florencía

018

BLOODS, CRIPS, & APRN'S

He was.. fascinated; and so were many others. But he.. he was different; truly invested in the energy that screamed.. her. He stared intently, got lost in the tumble of dark brown tresses having surpassed that protruding nature of her backside and the natural frustration in such features having left one to wonder what loitered her mental with leisureliness. Emotions seemed to have always had so much power over the contortion of her face leaving others, more so, him, to read upon as the countenance flushed of all the color it once withheld. Discontent was as evident as was the attitude seeping from pores open to the submission in his masculinity; his emotional nature viciously arousing. "Florence, you awake mama?" He whispered almost inaudibly; his tone hesitant with the anxiety that encompassed his existence. The anxiety that hadn't subjected itself to fathom as the mind of another chastised its presence, curating an essence of the fact with the flesh that skin burned with anger and succumbing to the painful tingle of deprivation under the hand having swept away tumbles of those unruly locks from the coverage of her countenance. Every nerve lit aflame, essentially where those hands seemed to brush and touch with grace, leaving the burning want for them hands to linger, to ache under the circumstances of needing to feed off one's own self assurance and overwhelmingly wavering independence. Reluctant in obedience of such undying urge and despite one's better judgement she turned with hesitance to face beyond what those irises could perceived from a vulnerable standpoint, irises beyond what she could perceive, catching her off guard from what twirled and thrived behind them.

Heterochromatic lenses alighted with yet another fire from within, aflame furiously within eyes glazing over with emotion in response to the eyes so infuriating with the audacity they had to exert in the manner they proceed. Her nose flared subconsciously, the hippocampus of another taunted into overdrive as the authenticity of her words threw him for a loop; the last time he had seen this side of her was nearly four years ago, but such an interlude was far more extreme than that.. more deadly.

They told stories the mouth couldn't, spoke languages the body couldn't, and told of the future in ways science wasn't able to. Eyes; were the nonverbal exhibition of telepathy exchange, mental communication, energetic behavior and the nature of tapping into the connections humans have with the earth they torture so wholeheartedly. The overactive qualities of the mind, the fragments of the brain in communication with another in the simple engagement of obtaining knowledge, the ability to gain and lose mental capacity in the sense of it's age and consistency regarding academic usage, the state of shrinking under the influence of old age and growing in endurance of stored knowledge, reliving memories, language, and ability to emotionally exert. It was the relation from the mind to the body it controlled that left so many philosophers in search of answers, how did this small form of flesh within the skull do so damn much. It was the power of philosophy that kept the mind going, the want and the yearn to know about everything regarding the properties of humanity, to know of everything. Mystery; enigmatic. A casted energy refraining from hesitation in navigation thoroughly throughout the aura of something, more so, someone withholding such indescribable authority in delicacy, figurative shackles upon the limbs of masculinity.. and femininity.. extravasating of a pure presence of mind in every which way that seemed to lead the unconscious modus vevendi. It was perplexing to the cortex how a simple evening of expensive mental cleansing and hippocampus activity could be twisted, turned and contorted into a form of dire yearn in the sense of having hid from society and catering to another. Knee deep in silence, the clouds remained suppressed with emotions that coursed the bodies of many, each mist-like raindrop that seemed to antagonize the eyes into flinching reverberating around the room like a cymbal, yet no-one blinks or yearns to stop it. Outside there is no traffic or bird song, by now it must be midnight- the time in which today becomes tomorrow. No call by midnight means the deal was not ratified by the elders and mortals were at war again. It means that the fragile peace is over before it really had a chance to take root. It means a return to kissing loved ones goodbye in the morning and meaning it, because who knew if they'd be back by nightfall, or back at all— Avoidance had its way with the competence of the mirrored structure of flames; pursuers. Though very little had been said and done, that was nothing to halt the lingering conviction of a shared passion from tangling with the soul that once was as pure as the heart lying so lazily in shatters amidst the distance.

"no quiero oírte hablar, Mauricio— I don't want to hear it." Intonation extravasated the state of complacency and mixed fatigue yet those hands trembled with the anticipation of rejoinder and dwindled with the fear of those hardening honey brown eyes. "Vete."

"Uh-uh, Ion want you upset over something I could explain and make better for you." A relief he was in dire need of. And though it was needed, for the indicator of such emotional unrest wanted so badly to burst the bubble of the other and leave her wondering with guilt and anticipation. He wanted to mend it— be her peace in a world that always managed to ruin it; tell her all the sweet things that his brother so desperately made endeavors to get her to forget. That she was the reason for the creation of something so holy and worthy of liberty upon the diverse lands of the earth. But it wasn't his place to spark a mental facade of reincarnation in retrospect, confusion was far too poignant, she wouldn't understand, nor would she accept him fully once taking any aspect of their situation into comprehension. Only thing, a last given alternative the gallant could make use of was giving her subtle hints and hoping to god she would come running back because there was no putting into words the love and passion he hadn't ceased to feel.

He was granted nothing other than silence; her face and gaze away from meeting that of his own, allowing her enough privacy to allow her to succumb to the emotions that become her. Florence whimpered, and immediately— not another second went by before finding the man of the hour gently adjusting himself to the curves of the feminine body. Making her lay her head against his chest as he now subconsciously held her like a lover offering their naturally instinctive comfort. Wrapping his arms around her unconscious induced torso, those measly sniffles turned into anguished wails that began to pervade the thickening air of the room, dispatched from one end of the emotional ambit surrounding the two. The tears she fought to keep suppressed, the tears she forbid herself given the leeway to fall, betrayed her once pep-talking oneself enough to push all fear aside enough to allow his lips to brush against against her forehead. The growing heat radiating from his fingers crept into her consciousness, his digits light and kisses soft upon her nose and high tempered cheeks comforting as her emotional vulnerability with him gave all forms of leisure to the repressed feelings; allowing them to go on a violent rampage. "I missed you so much." She cried into his chest, her body tense with the solemnity of the occurrence that engulfed their better judgement,and feeling his emotions become just as mediocre, but genuinely didn't have the time nor withheld patience to consider the hypothetical "what if's" and "what could have been" whilst the energy having settled itself within the mind and body of one biding so calmly within the, rather large, hospital bed.

"I missed you so much more— I'm so sorry baby," Maurice whispered; the mere thought of his patience and peace with her after all she'd said and done brought extensive solace to the soul within, while with every flutter of those naturally long lashes her heart skipped a beat. They seemed to glimmer with gold and sheath the dark brown that was of those irises in poor lighting; a detectable hope intertwined the pools of pure honey as they beg and plead for a chance to get caught in the trap of that ambiguous gaze. Expressions came and went, exhibited and fled under surveillance from above, an emotional one as her facial vehemence aroused intense guilt from the other; yearning to be appeased. "I-I ain't say nothing 'cause I felt it was in yo' best interest that I keep my mouth shut.. I didn't want to— trust baby. That was the last thing I wanted to do, but I felt I had to and realized quickly that that wasn't the best decision and ain't know how to go about it other than drinking," His gaze hardened noticeably— shamefully, swallowing down hesitantly under the intense gaze that read his existence to filth under the luminosity of the office. He was intrigued, yet intimidated— to say the very least. And she knew it. Having gotten a self-made degree in reading body language; she recognized his assumptions of her calmness and soft character as an individual of her nature not being the type to express unspoken brews of pent up fury to him after all that he's done to her. And both of them were scarce of judgement as they were so juxtaposingly similar in the many ways they were conveniently different. "Why'd you lose it on me like that— I-I knew you was upset with me.. but that was different, I've never seen that before."